***
Mason
He stared at his friend, his brother, seeing how pain and grief were stripping him of control. It had been hard enough to keep Hoss here when they didn’t know anything, and Mason knew if he didn’t gain control of this damned situation with Garrett now, they’d lose Hoss.
“Garrett?” Every question he could ever ask was in that one word. Was his boy sure of himself? Did he have the means to take her by force if needed? Did he need her like he seemed to? Was Hoss’ girl the one for his boy?
“Yes, Dad. God, yes.” Relief in his boy’s voice. Relief and a sense of self that’d been lacking lately. Relief and knowledge that he had his father’s trust. Something I never had. Something he’d wanted to give his boy so badly it kept him up at night.
Mason looked around the room at the men gathered there. Hoss, Myron, Tug, Deke, Brute, and Gunny stood in a tight group around the counter where the phone connecting them to his boy rested. These men, some of the ones he trusted most in the world, were waiting on his word. Myron’s fingers rested on the keyboard of Faith’s computer he’d retrieved from her room, but an expectant silence filled the room, surrounding the men in a way that Mason knew no matter how things went today, they’d all remember this moment as one that changed everything.
“Okay.” Hardest word he’d ever had to say, and it ripped from his throat like sandpaper. “Okay.” He lifted his chin and closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the welcome weight of his infant son on his chest as they slept on the couch together. Inseparable, he’d built a strong foundation with his boy through the years, and this was the moment it mattered most. “Son, you tell us what you need.” Myron looked at him like he’d lost his mind and Mason shook his head, shutting him down before he could utter a single word. “No, brother. Don’t argue with me. Just do, yeah? See what you can find out. Give my boy a fighting chance to bring our girl home.”
Hoss sucked in a breath, and another, control leaving him until Gunny and Deke bracketed him, hands on his shoulders helping him hold it together. Myron nodded slowly and then looked down, verifying something on the screen in front of him before moving back to his machine.
“Okay.” He tapped a key, then thumped his thumb against the mousepad. “It’s a standard farmhouse, circa 1990s, but satellite imagery shows the ground around the house hasn’t settled like you’d expect it to. Not for a good distance on every side of the structure. That tells me they’ve reinforced the basement. We’ve seen this before, in Chicago, when Diamante took over a prepper’s house. I expect that’s what happened here, even if I can’t find a record of that particular owner. That means, Garrett, that getting into the house is only part of the job. You’ve got to get to the basement, and then find where they have her.” Myron paused, and Mason nodded, telling him to pull back the curtain on the things that happened in club business. “Almost all clubhouses have interrogation rooms in the lowest level, where it’s easier to put in drains and water for cleanup. That’s where they’ll have her, I can almost guarantee it.” He tapped again and spun the computer to Mason, pointing at something on the screen. “The last known roster tells me they’ve got a lot of new blood in there, only a couple of OG, and that’s probably going to work in your favor.”
Mason stared at the screen, reading through the names, his gaze pausing on one. “Are you sure of this, Myron?” He angled his gaze up in time to see Myron’s solemn nod. “Garrett, there’s one guy there you’ll have to steer clear of. His club name is Bedlam, and he’s been in this area a long time. He’s crazy, so crazy we won’t even think of putting a patch on him. He’s earned some seriously bad blood with a few Rebels over it through the years. Steer clear.” He lifted his chin at Myron. “Send him a picture of Bedlam.”
“Bedlam got papers yesterday severing his parental rights over Blackie’s oldest girl.” Hoss tossed this bomb out like he didn’t see how that changed everything. “Blackie talked to me while we were in Texas, and we—” He gestured towards Myron who nodded. “—hooked him up with a fast track. I got a text from Blackie earlier that they hadn’t heard anything from the man yet, made him nervous. You thinkin’ this is about that?”
Mason shook his head. “History on the contact with your girl predates our trip. It ain’t that.”
Myron retrieved the computer and worked for a moment, then looked up, lips pressed into a bloodless line. “Remember that guy we wanted to talk to from Estavez’ village?” Mason nodded, muscles in his belly tightening in advance of the blow he knew was coming. “The one who owned the place Spider was taken to and worked over? Enzo Estavez?” Another nod, and he held his head steady at the end, waiting. “He’s there, too.”
***
Cassie
Fingers trembling on the clutch, Cassie angled the bike around the final corner and pulled off the road to stop at the end of the long, gravel driveway. She hadn’t intended to be here, hadn’t intended to be anywhere except at Hoss’ house, waiting for word. Or maybe in her own home with the doors locked, under the covers in her own bed.
That was before the call.
Leaving Tug’s house, she’d gotten Hoss’ address from him and assured Tug she’d be right over. After abandoning her house so ill-prepared, she’d wanted to change from her pajama top and at least put socks on her feet. Bike parked, she’d been in the house when her phone rang with an unfamiliar number. With so much up in the air right now, she’d answered immediately, expecting to get an update from someone. Even if Tug couldn’t call her, he’d promised to keep her updated.
“Hello?” Zippers loosened on her boots, Cassie grunted as she pried them off her sweaty feet.
“This Hoss’ woman?” The question took her off-guard, and Cassie paused before she responded. “This his old lady?”
“Yes?” Her response was as much a question as her initial hello had been, and she shook her head, hating this tentative side of herself. I was getting better. Still, she’d fought her way free from the clutches of a full-blown attack today, forcing it away to make sure the right people knew what was happening with Faith.
“Listen to this.” A beat of silence, then a girl’s scream, sounding tinny and far away. “Don’t please. Oh, God. Please.” Cassie’s chest seized, no air moving through her lungs as she listened to what had to be Hoss’ little girl being tortured. “Please.” Silence again, then the man’s voice, rich with an unfamiliar accent, asked her, “You want her to die?”
“No! Please, no.” Cassie gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, holding herself up when her knees threatened to give way.
“Come here then.” He rattled off an address, demanding she repeated it back. When he was convinced she had it, he told her, “Ride the bike. And bitch?” Cassie couldn’t answer him with words, but whatever noise she made must have sufficed, because he finished with a terrifying directive. “Hurry.”
That was two hours ago. She’d taken two minutes to finish dressing appropriately, texted Hoss’ phone, and then roared out of her garage for the second time that day. All the way to here, where she sat staring at a house placed away from the road, she’d tried to stay on autopilot. Riding aggressively but carefully, she’d pushed her bike’s small fuel tank to the limit, not stopping for anything. The phone in her pocket rumbled for the first time since she’d left, and she toed the bike’s transmission into Neutral to dig the device from the front pocket of her jeans. The same unfamiliar number had texted her. No response to the one she’d sent Hoss, and she refused to let that hurt her. No time for this now.
She stared at the text. Come on in.
Phone back in her pocket, she punched the bike into gear, took in a deep breath before she eased off the brake, and rolled closer to the house.
A man stood on the porch as if to greet her. He was Hispanic and tall, his skin and hair dark with evidence of his heritage. That explains the accent. Without rushing, keeping Hoss’ lesson in the forefront of her mind, she rolled the bike forwards, then pushed backwards to park with the front wheel aimed ba
ck up the driveway. The bulk of the device in her other front pocket was reassuring as she unmounted from the bike, and Cassie held her head high as she turned to look at the man.
He stared at her a moment, then something crossed his expression, his lips twisting in what looked like anger. “You, for her.”
Faith’s screams sounded in her mind, and Cassie didn’t hesitate when she replied. “Yes.” She didn’t offer threats of reprisal, of revenge. For all she knew, Hoss wouldn’t bother, not after their fight and his silence. But she couldn’t let him go through losing someone he loved again. Not after he’d talked to her about Hope. How he’d never stopped loving her. If something happened to his daughter, the child he shared with Hope, he would be devastated. I can’t let that happen to him. “Let her go, and I’ll stay.”
“Bedlam,” he called over his shoulder, and the door behind him opened a few inches. “We have her.” A man’s head poked through the gap, the smile on his face poisonous when his gaze landed on her. “Bring the girl.”
“No.” The door opened wider, and Bedlam strolled out. “We keep ’em both. Gonna be war one way or the other. She’s good collateral, man. We need to keep power tilted in our favor, keep all the leverage we can get our hands on. That’s the way of war. We keep ’em both.”
The first man squared up with Bedlam, giving Cassie his back in a move that she didn’t understand. Shouldn’t he keep me in sight or something? “I said, bring the girl.” Enunciating carefully, he repeated his words from before, following with a menacing “Now,” as he leaned forwards at the hips.
“No, mi compadre. I think not.” Bedlam sneered and pushed his shoulders back, puffing up his chest. He’s crazy. This man was named appropriately, and Cassie’s blood ran cold as he again defied the first man. “Not today. Not right now. Not ever, I think.”
“Then you should not think.” She saw the man’s shoulders shift, muscles rippling under the shirt covering his back. There was a holster with a gun on his hip, and she saw the outline of another gun at the small of his back. He held his arms out slightly, as if to facilitate a faster draw. “Take yourself back inside, now. And bring me the girl.” His fingers twitched, and Bedlam looked down, then back up at the man’s face. “Unharmed.”
“Enzo,” Bedlam sneered the name, and Cassie jolted because hatred was clear in his tone. “You ain’t the boss man here.”
“Neither are you.” There was a brief pause, then he finished with, “Friend.” His tone mocked Bedlam’s.
“Then we wait for my prez. Cut and dried, plain and simple. You ain’t the shot caller.” Bedlam moved back to the doorway, the edge of danger that had been so oppressive easing off by millimeters. “Bring the bitch inside.”
Enzo turned, and stared at her then he gestured with one hand. “Cassie. It seems we are stalemated. It is your life for hers, and you should know that before you come inside.”
Cassie took a step forwards, then another, and head high, she told him, “I still say yes.”
***
Garrett
“Oh, shit, Dad.” He lay belly-down in the field within shouting distance of the house and had overheard every word of the exchange that just happened. “Did you hear? Cassie’s here.”
“Yeah, boy. Gimme a minute here. Don’t move yet.” Mason’s voice was dark and filled with anger and gravel, rage overtopping whatever barrier had been holding it back up to now. “Myron, if we roll now, how fast can we get there?”
“Minimum two hours, Mason. As soon as we knew what was going on, I checked with the clubhouse closer than we are here, and they headed out then. It’s still at least thirty before they get there in force. At least thirty minutes, Mason. A lot can happen—”
Silence fell abruptly and the quality of the call had changed enough for a telltale.
“Don’t mute me,” Garrett whisper-shouted into the phone and the tone changed back. “Dammit, Dad. I’m here now. Now. And they’ve got both Faynez and Cassie. We can’t let them get hurt.” His mouth flooded with bitter bile and he spat, trying to clear the taste. “I can’t let them get hurt. You’ve told me for years that our job is to take care of those more vulnerable than we are. Well, I’m not vulnerable. I’ve got a gun, and a knife, and I know how to fight. You and Chase saw to that.” They had, too, Chase taking it on himself to pass along the lessons Slate and other RWMC members had taught him. “I’m not waiting any longer.”
Shouted words overlapped and he picked out the voices of Tug, Hoss, and Myron, but his father was silent. He gave them a minute to them sort themselves out, and then once he was certain his father could hear him, Garrett told him again. “I’m not waiting.”
“Don’t hesitate.” Strength and trust flowed into him through the connection they shared. Emotion thick in his voice, Garrett’s father gave him orders he heard and committed to memory, knowing this was a defining moment in their relationship. Before this moment, and after, they would forever remember it as a turning point. “You go in, and you don’t hesitate. Check your loads, know what you’ve got to use. Then when you see someone, you plug ’em.” There was a pause and Garrett slowly closed his eyes, understanding the struggle inside his father right now. “Gar-boy, if you hesitate, if you falter, you’ll fail. There are too many men in there for you to give an inch, son. Those women are depending on you. You love Faith, yeah?”
Garrett nodded as he forced out a quiet, “Yeah.” He opened his eyes as he took in a deep breath, then admitted in a stronger voice, “I love her, Dad.”
“Then bring her home, son. You go in there, get her, and bring her out. Bring her home. Bring them both home.”
We need to believe
Mason
Myron’s hands were a blur as he worked the keyboards of two computers, moving back and forth to organize and carry out Mason’s demands. There hadn’t been time to verify anything other than the intel their on-the-ground man had provided, but Garrett had been clear and concise as he described what he’d seen.
Mason ignored the terror still churning his gut, tightening his fists as he tried to separate his fear for his son from what needed to be done. Knowing the men in that house would be focused inwardly with the addition of Cassie to their hostages, he’d instructed Garrett to make an approach. He’d told his boy to keep his phone on until Myron had shaken his head.
“Taking unshielded electronics within twenty foot of that house is a bad idea, boss.” Myron pulled up a schematic and waved Mason over to look alongside him. “I’m going to assume they’re up to date on the latest, and either they’ll ping him right away as an unregistered device, or they’ll have blockers in place that’ll fry it. He’s gotta kill it to go inside.”
Mason stared at the man, a friend, a brother, and right now, his worst enemy telling him to serve his boy up on a platter to men who hadn’t balked at involving family in club business. “This is what we’ve been fighting against.” Myron nodded, having followed Mason’s logic. “Anything happens to my boy, I’ll kill ’em all.”
“In line behind me.” Hoss’ words came out on a growl and Mason dipped his head, acknowledging the man’s claim. “I’m not waiting more. I have to do something, brother. Brute and Gunny already left. They’re forty-five ahead of me. I can catch ’em. I need to do something.”
“You are doing something, the hardest thing.” Mason gripped his shoulder and tightened his fingers down until his joints ached. He stared at Hoss for a breath, then turned back to the phone. “Garrett. Phone off, boy. And go. Go fast, go silent, and go smart.”
“Yes, sir.” The call disconnected.
“Jesus Christ.” Myron whispered.
Mason stared at Hoss who’d parked himself in a doorway, fingers stretched overhead to hook at the frame, dragging his body tight with the strain on his muscles. Mason understood the need to have a physical burn to anchor him to the present moment. “This.” He shook his head. “This is why we do what we do, so this kind of shit ends. Family should be above, should be safe.” Mason twist
ed and gazed around the room, still filling with club members as word passed man-to-man about what was going down. “Family is what makes us strong, and what we fight for.”
“How long’s it been, Myron?” Hoss’ voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “How long since Garrett went inside?”
“Ten minutes.” Myron sounded distracted and Mason looked at him. “I got a drone headed in, fucking finally. I’ll be onsite in fifteen. It’s a long wait but the only one with the capabilities I needed was in Columbus. Took longer than I wanted, but I’ll have eyes and ears in fifteen, boss.”
“A lot can happen in twenty-five minutes.” Tug’s voice reflected the exhaustion the man’s face showed. “A fuck of a lot.”
***
Garrett
The living room of the house was empty. Garrett surveyed what was visible of the inside of the house through the gap between curtains on the front window, surprised at how normal the building seemed. From the looks of the couches and chairs, you’d never know kidnappers lived here. Dangerous men, who had taken something that mattered to him. Someone he’d do anything to get back.
The pistol swung loosely and casually from his hand. His dad’s weapon was heavier than what he was used to, but having a gun in hand was comfortable. They’d spent enough time at ranges through the years that he didn’t have to look at it to work the magazine loose, pressing his thumb against the top cartridge in the mechanism to ensure it was full. One eye still aimed through the curtains, he slipped the holder back into place, listening for the metallic snick as it locked.
He took a deep breath and moved to the front door. Garrett opened it slowly, listening both inside and outside the house for any noise. Nothing. With a nod, he closed the door behind him and locked it, verifying he could still easily leave by twisting the knob. Control access if possible. The door to the basement stood open on one side of the short hallway leading to what had to be the kitchen. He heard the shuffle of footsteps from that direction and bolted, running soundlessly towards the dark rectangle as he sorted out three separate voices.
Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 4 Page 91
